The Mithril Shirt
by Naeth
Summary: Ever wonder about that mithril shirt of Bilbo's? If you've read the Hobbit, you know they found it with the treasure under the mountain. But who was it originally made for- and why didn't they ever come to collect? As always, R&R!


The Mithril Shirt  
  
There was his unsuspecting prey! Writing at his desk, how typical. Eager hands gripped the edge of the doorway; the predator readied himself to spring. There! He had turned his head to gaze out the window. "Yeeaaarrgh!" the bundle of muscle and energy launched itself at its target.  
  
"Oof!" went the target.  
  
"Atar!" the predator said happily, squeezing his father.  
  
"Lalindo! What are you doing up this late?" Erveryo asked, putting down his pen, and doing a bad job of concealing his delight. "Are you trying to scare me senseless?"  
  
"Well.Auntie didn't say I couldn't come in and say goodnight!" Lalindo said, squirming around to get comfortable. "It would've been very mean of her to say I couldn't!"  
  
"Well, goodnight then, Lalindo," Erveryo said, reaching around his son, picking up his pen and preparing to get on with the writing.  
  
"Atar!" Lalindo looked at him accusingly, as if to say 'You know this game, why don't you play it any more?' He looked at Erveryo with beseeching grey eyes.  
  
Erveryo sighed. Hero of battles yet conquered by those eyes. So like his mother. "Your Auntie Melde will have my head."  
  
"No she won't!" Lalindo laughed. "You'd chop her first!"  
  
"Chop your auntie? My dear boy, who ever spoke of such things!" Erveryo said, mock horrified.  
  
"You did!" Lalindo said, rummaging around on the desk. "What's this say?" he asked, pointing to the paper that Erveryo had been writing.  
  
"Come now, surely Auntie Melde has taught you some of your letters!"  
  
"But I can't read yours- they're all scratchy- and the words are too big!"  
  
Erveryo sighed and picked up the paper. "Well then, it's grown-up things, and best left to grown-ups."  
  
"Please read it, Atar? Please?"  
  
Erveryo sighed. "'To whom it may concern: I Erveryo, son of Veryandil, being of sound [i]fêa[/i] and [i]hröa[/i] do hearby set down in the tongue I was first taught, my last will and testament."  
  
"What does that mean, Atar?" Lalindo asked.  
  
Erveryo avoided his son's gaze for a moment, then looked back at him and spoke. "It means that I must go a way for a little while."  
  
"Not again! You only just got back!"  
  
"Two weeks ago," Erveryo corrected. "Two weeks ago. Now Atar has.business to go on. A hunt of sorts."  
  
"You're the best hunter in Arda, Atar, but why do you have to go away to hunt? There are lots of things to hunt nearby."  
  
"The best game is further away," Erveryo said, but he frowned heavily, then smiled. "Tell you what!"  
  
"What?" Lalindo asked eagerly.  
  
"If you promise to be a good boy for Auntie Melde whilst I'm away, I'll have a mithril shirt made for you!"  
  
"What's that?" Lalindo asked, suspicious.  
  
"Why, I'll show you," Erveryo said and began to unfasten his shirt. Beneath it, glittering silver, was his own mithril shirt. "This was my father's," he said, pleased to see the awe clearly written on Lalindo's face. "He gave it to me a very long time ago, when I was a bit older than you are now."  
  
"It's so shiny!" Lalindo said, touching it gently. "But, isn't it heavy? Cilmo swears up and down when he has to get into his armor. It shines brighter than armor, though."  
  
"That's because Cilmo's armor is a well-meant but rather ill-made gift from some of his Edain acquaintances. This is mithril, or 'true silver' the dwarves call it, light as ordinary cloth, and you can wear it without anyone knowing. It turns arrows and knives as well as, if not better than some armor."  
  
Lalindo tugged at it slightly. "It doesn't clink at all."  
  
"Because it's so well made," Erveryo said. "Now, my proposition again is this," he said, drawing himself up in his best business manner. "A mithril shirt like this one, if you're good while I'm away."  
  
Lalindo nodded. "I'll be good! I'll be very good! I'll do everything Auntie Melde says- and more!"  
  
"You promise? You'll be man of the house when I'm away."  
  
"I thought Máneharno is in charge when you're away?"  
  
"Well, this time he'll advise you, all right?"  
  
A nod.  
  
"So we're agreed!" Erveryo said, smiling. "Now, I'm afraid you really must get to bed- look, Ithil is already high in the sky."  
  
"But you won't forget about my shirt, Atar?"  
  
"I'll write out the order now!" Erveryo promised, hugging his son tightly. "Now, to bed with you, scat before Melde comes!"  
  
Lalindo kissed him and hopped from his lap. At the door he turned. "Goodnight Atar!" he whispered.  
  
"Goodnight!" Erveryo whispered back, and Lalindo was gone.  
  
"'Scat before Melde comes'?" someone repeated. Melde herself stepped into the room. "I couldn't help but overhear that last part, though I will ignore the small figure running down the hallway in a desperate attempt to be in bed before I notice that he's gone!"  
  
Erveryo shrugged uncomfortably.  
  
"Don't do that," Melde said abruptly. Then caught herself. "I apologize, I had no call to be so rude."  
  
"It's a bad habit of mine, I'll try to curb it," Erveryo said, smiling slightly. "Such little things set you off."  
  
Melde bristled slightly. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You think I indulge Lalindo too much, and you resent how careless I seem at times. Odd, how two children raised in the same house in similar conditions could grow up so differently."  
  
"You were never under the responsibility of becoming a good hostess and lady," Melde said, sitting down.  
  
"Well, I should hope not, but I was under the responsibility of becoming a good host and lord." Erveryo went back to his writing, then looked up as Melde sighed. "What troubles you, sister? Surely you did not come in only to correct me in my deportment?"  
  
"No," Melde said. "No, I did not." She was frowning. Then she looked up. "Why must you go, again? Do you want to leave the child without any parents?"  
  
"My lord summons me, and I must go," Erveryo said. "It is that simple."  
  
"No, respectfully, brother, it is not that simple," Melde said. "You are sending three-quarters of all garrisoned here, and you yourself will lead them. Why not allow Cilmo to lead?"  
  
"My lord did not ask for Cilmo, he asked for me. And while Cilmo is a very capable leader, I have years of experience that he does not."  
  
"He asked for you specifically, knowing that you have a motherless young son?"  
  
"War cares little if you are motherless, orphaned, privileged or deprived. Besides, he has you and Máneharno to look after him should.should anything happen to me."  
  
Melde looked grim. "Appeal. Say there are new problems which have arisen here that require your attendance."  
  
"You would have me forsake my sworn duty? Melde, you know better than to suggest such things!"  
  
Melde shook her head. "I know, I know, brother. But you mean all of Arda to that boy, and more."  
  
"And he to me," Erveryo sighed. "And I would give up everything to be with him- he is all I have of Laire now. He looks so much like her." He closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them. "But I know my duty. And I will carry it out."  
  
Melde nodded. "Then I had better see that no one has misplaced your standard, or your helm, or anything else you may want."  
  
"Thank you, Melde."  
  
"Be careful, Erveryo, for Lalindo and for all of us." 


End file.
